


Blood of Arlathan

by Disenchantress



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantress/pseuds/Disenchantress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran tells his story of his relationship with Lurai Mahariel, the forgotten moments in the quest to take down the Archdemon, and the aftermath of the Fifth Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Meeting was Fate, More or Less

**Author's Note:**

> Writing in Zevran's voice has been a little challenging for me, so I appreciate any feedback! Please let me know if I stray too close to Antonio Banderas. XP
> 
> This fic was originally published under a different pseud on FF.net, but I am revamping and expanding as I go, so it isn't exactly the same fic any longer.

My name is Zevran Arainai. I am an elf, the son of a Dalish whore. I am also an assassin, a thief, and a free man. The fact that I’m still alive to be all of those things I owe to one woman, quite possibly the only woman I have ever truly loved. I can’t say it started out that way, though…

When the Warden I had been hired to attack shot an arrow that knocked me unconscious, I could never have foreseen that the very same woman would soon follow with another through my heart—in a more metaphorical sense, of course. To be perfectly honest, I never expected to wake up at all.

And yet when I did, two of the most beautiful redheaded women I had ever seen were standing over me. Unfortunately, they were flanked by a rather angry-looking man in heavy armor and what I could have sworn was a hornless Qunari.

The girl in front had somewhat brighter red hair swept sharply back into a bun and tattoos that marked her as one of the Dalish. She was the one to speak to me first and I could tell she was the leader, the one I had been sent to kill. Understandably, she was not pleased with my failed attempt, and her voice was steely as she demanded, “I have some questions for you before you join your friends, flat-ear.”

“Ouch,” I complained, but of course still keeping my tone as flirtatious as possible. That was usually the best defense when disarmed, after all. “I’m not entirely sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound at all comfortable.”

To expedite my interrogation, I confessed my identity. The Dalish girl didn’t recognize the Crows, but the human one did and explained in a rather lovely Orlesian accent. I thought my full disclosure plan was going quite well until I gave them the name of the man who had hired me and both the Dalish and the armored human bristled.

“Loghain sent you,” the Dalish girl snarled, her fingers tightening on her longbow.

“Shouldn’t really come as a surprise,” the man grumbled. “The job wasn’t finished at Ostagar; why wouldn’t he keep trying?”

The Dalish girl’s eyes narrowed, and I admired their bright blue hue just in case they might be the last thing I ever saw. But once I denied any loyalty to the man her expression softened a little more, and when I went on into how the Crows had bought me as a child she began to look almost sorry for me. Normally I would detest that, but it did convince me there might be opportunity to stay alive after all.

And so I presented my case, though a small part of me wasn’t sure why. No doubt the Crows would catch on eventually and descend in force, but perhaps there might be a little entertainment along the way. Maybe even a chance to make up for some of my more egregious mistakes.

The Orlesian girl seemed ready to forgive me, but the Dalish was harder to read and I sensed that her opinion was likely the deciding factor. She was still suspicious and had some very smart questions, but the more I used the opportunity to flirt, the more the creases around her eyes softened.

However when she gave in and said I could follow her, the thick-necked human man looked ready to boil in his shiny metal suit. How touchy humans get when you try to kill them!

The Dalish though was more pragmatic, and seemed to talk sense into her comrade. Well, if adopting a failed assassin into your traveling group can be considered “sense,” anyway.

“Thank you for that,” I said with a smile as I got to my feet.

“Don’t thank me too much,” she said, securing her bow onto her back and fixing me with a fierce look. “I promise that if you make me regret this, I’ll make  you regret not dying here.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I purred, unable to keep from smirking. I do so love women with tenacity. “Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She eyed me for a moment, then relented. “Lurai Mahariel.”

I smiled. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Lurai crossed her arms and glared me down. “I’m a Dalish hunter, flat-ear. I’m not some Antivan whore you can buy with a smile.”

That made me chuckle. “Oh, trust me, a good Antivan whore is much more expensive than that.”

“I can only imagine,” she said dryly, and with a quirk of her eyebrow she was off to catch up with the others. I started after her, unable to keep the smile off my face. Of course, I had no idea at the time that would be the beginning of the most death-defying, preconception-shattering, incredible year of my life. But I do remember thinking in that moment that this adventure looked to be turning out much more fun than I had anticipated.


	2. Though She Didn't Think So At First

I had expected more interrogation when the group made camp that night, but it was rather the opposite, in fact. The lovely Orlesian was the only one that spoke to me at all, and though I was very interested in how she had come to be in a party of Fereldan Grey Wardens and how she knew so much about the Crows, she was not very forthcoming with the details.

Leliana did, however, do me the courtesy of giving me everyone’s names and a bit of their stories. Somehow, I thought I might miss calling Alistair “that thick-necked human.”

He seemed to tolerate my presence only because Lurai had made the decision. Even though I stood almost directly across the fire from him, he insistently stared into the embers and off into the sky rather than look in my direction. Perhaps he was her lover and felt threatened? I couldn’t say, but getting the cold shoulder from an uptight templar was hardly the worst thing I had ever endured.

Still, it got uncomfortable after a while, so I paid a visit to what I assumed would be the least judgmental member of the party: the hound. He wasn’t much like the dogs I was familiar with in Antiva, and I found myself telling him so just so that I would have someone to talk to.

“Now, what did they say your name was again? Something Elvish, I think…”

“Fen’Harel,” said a voice behind me and I turned to see that Lurai had appeared out of nowhere and was watching me with her arms crossed over her chest.

“It seems I underestimated you again,” I said with a smile. “I did not realize how stealthy the Dalish are.”

“As I said, I’m a hunter,” Lurai informed me, but my compliment to her people seemed to have relaxed her stance a little. “We have to be a part of the forest because it’s our job to guard our clansmen. We’re the first line of defense against marauding shemlen and flat-ears.”

I had heard those terms before, but no one had ever really taken the time to explain what they meant. Recognizing with the opportunity, I asked her.

Something hardened in those lovely blue eyes of hers as she answered, “Shemlen are humans. Flat-ears are the elves that have cast aside what it means to be elvhen and turned their backs on the People to live under the shemlen’s boots.”

Ah, so that was what I was to her? Less than an elf? _Ouch_.

At least “shemlen” was comparable to the “shem” slur that city elves used for humans, so that made it a little easier to remember. Judging by the way she said it, it was a little surprising she was in the company of so many humans, but I decided it was probably best not to comment.

“‘The People’ would be the Dalish, I assume?” I guessed.

Lurai nodded. “We are the keepers of the lost lore. The walkers of the lonely path.”

There was a note of sorrow in that last line that struck me as a little more personal than she was letting on. Cautiously, I asked, “So why is it that I see only one of you here in this little camp?”

The way she clenched her fists made it very clear that I probably shouldn’t have asked that question, but much to my surprise, she didn’t snap at me. In fact, her voice was barely more than a whisper as she said, “Believe me, I would gladly have moved on with my clan and forgotten the Blight, but it took one of my clansmen and tainted me. The only cure for that sickness was to become a Grey Warden, and my keeper insisted she would not have me die for the clan as well. We do not refuse to go when our keeper sends.”

“Even if it’s into exile,” I observed quietly, a little surprised by the empathy in my own voice.

Lurai caught that too, and she raised one eyebrow at me. “Feeling exiled yourself, are you?”

“From the Crows?” I asked innocently, laughing at the idea. “Oh, I suspect there will be blood enough on your journey to make me feel at home.”

“The only question is whose,” she agreed, and I clicked my tongue at her expression.

“Now, now. Not that I don’t appreciate how your lips look when they’re pouting, but if you keep frowning like that, you’re going to mark up your pretty face.”

Unfortunately, that just seemed to make her frown deepen. “Actually, the Dalish quite value the marks on our faces.”

I couldn’t help it; that caught me so off guard it made me genuinely laugh. “And you joke! Aren’t you just full of surprises!”

The tiniest of smiles broke through her serious expression, and I wondered what I could do to make that happen more often. “I’m out of practice,” she said simply, and it took me a moment to realize she was answering my words and not reading my mind.

“You could always practice on me,” I offered with a wink. I expected another threat in response, but again she surprised me by instead giving me a look that was equal parts sad and wistful.

“I truly hope you keep your word, Zevran. Now that I’ve spoken to you, I would hate to have to cut you down.”

I smiled. “And yet you would, if the situation arose. You are a strong woman; I admire that. But back to the marks on your face… they have special meaning to the Dalish, yes? And to you?”

Lurai’s hand reached up toward the blue-green, lace-like pattern over her right eye, but then she seemed to catch herself and withdrew it, shaking her head. “Vallaslin are not decorations to be spoken of lightly to outsiders. They profess our values and beliefs to our clansmen. I do not share pieces of my soul so lightly.”

“Should I go first, then?” I offered, only half joking. “I am somewhat of an open book, for the most part.”

“Perhaps another time. Sleep well, Zevran. And do not force my hand.”

I probably should have been more concerned about the threats I kept getting, but somehow I found it hard to focus as I watched her walk to her tent. Such a shame that a vixen with a body like that insisted on sleeping alone.


	3. But the More I Came to Know Her

“So then you insist upon continuing your suicide mission to Denerim, yes?” I asked as we began to pull up camp the next day.

“I would ask how you know where we’re going, but I’m pretty sure that would just make me want to kill you again,” Alistair said rather snidely.

“You mean you’ve stopped?” I shot back with the best sarcasm I could muster so early in the morning. “Glorious! Then we can move on to roasting mushrooms over open fires and telling sordid tales of lovers past, no?”

Unsurprisingly, my tone went straight over his bristly head and he responded, “No, actually. I’d much prefer we didn’t.”

I clicked my tongue in feigned disappointment. “Such a shame. I dare say there is much I could teach you.”

Lurai snapped the buckle on her pack loudly and interjected, “I think at the moment, the best thing you could contribute would be less prodding Alistair and more ideas about ways to get into Denerim without having our heads raised on pikes, seeing as Loghain already knows we’re coming.”

I laughed. “I imagine the best course of action would be to turn around, but somehow I don’t believe you will accept that.”

“There are lives at stake,” Alistair snapped, and I couldn’t help it; I had to roll my eyes.

“Indeed— _yours_ , you fool, if you try to attack this Loghain while he is in a fortified position.”

Lurai’s right eyebrow shot up. “Is that what he thinks we’re going to Denerim for?”

“Of course,” Wynne said quietly. I was a little surprised by that; I hadn’t heard her speak yet. “Why else would he imagine those he tried to kill would approach his stronghold?”

Now I was legitimately confused. “So you _don’t_ mean to assassinate the man?”

“Oh, without question; but not yet,” Lurai said, crossing her arms. “Without his treachery, the rest of the Grey Wardens might still be alive and I might be free of this mess to return to my clan by now. But we have other business in Denerim… and if Loghain expects an attack, he may remain fortified rather than challenge us.” She shot a look at Alistair and concluded, “This could work in our favor.”

Alistair grimaced. “What do we have to lose, right? Only our lives and every chance of defeating the Blight.”

“We’ll lose that if we don’t,” Lurai said pointedly. “Without your arl, we won’t stand a chance. No one in your _Landsmeet_ will listen to the word of one of the People.”

She said ‘Landsmeet’ like it was a curse, and I couldn’t blame her. I had never exactly been a fan of alienages or the nobles that policed them either. Yet it was curious she would have knowledge of their inner workings, being Dalish. I found myself wondering if she had ever seen one or was just relying on the word of her clan to make a judgment.

“That’s an old prejudice,” Alistair said consolingly, breaking into my thoughts. “You’re different than the image they have of the Dalish. They’ll see that if it’s Arl Eamon that tells them so.”

Lurai sighed and shook her head. “For the sake of us all, they had better.”

* * *

Over the next few days on the road back to Denerim, I came to gain a much better understanding of my new companions and our now shared mission. Well, except perhaps of Sten, who refused to speak more than a few words no matter what I said, and Morrigan. The witch was beautiful in an untamed sort of way, but guarded her secrets more closely than an Antivan lord does his life.

Wynne was less quiet the longer I was around and when she tried to talk to me, it was usually about repentance. Somehow killing people to survive seemed less righteous to her than killing people because they tried to kill you. And people question my morals.

As it turned out, Leliana was a good deal less righteous than she had appeared at first, as well. She had known about the Crows because she herself had once been an assassin—an Orlesian bard, in fact. But my fascination with her ended when I realized she had completely renounced her old life and refused to trade any stories that didn’t have anything to do with the Maker.

Alistair it seemed hated me not only because I had tried to kill him but also on his principles and, I suspected, because I made no secret of it when I found someone attractive. He seemed especially touchy whenever I broke the monotony of our long trek by flirting harmlessly with Lurai. Whether he just found my openness appalling or was attracted to her himself I couldn’t say, but for his sake I hoped it wasn’t the latter. I had the feeling she might have taken it as an insult for a human man to approach her.

For all her attempts to be fair and unbiased, it was easy to see Lurai still didn’t truly trust the human members of our traveling party. If Alistair tapped her on the shoulder to point something out, she whirled like she expected an attack. When Morrigan mentioned a plant they had passed she could cultivate to make poison, Lurai tested her soup and waited for everyone else to eat first. If Leliana talked too long about the Maker, Lurai would start chanting strange words that I could only assume were prayers to the Dalish gods.

I hadn’t often considered myself lucky to be born elven, but it felt quite nice for someone to be more comfortable around me than a human templar for once. I didn’t make the mistake of asking Lurai about her tattoos again, but when I talked about Antiva and she realized how much I missed my home, she would give this sad little smile and talk about her clan for a while as well.

I didn’t recognize some of the words she used. Sometimes I couldn’t even distinguish names from titles because many of those she used were elvish, too. But when she talked about the forest, the way her people traveled, and nights spent watching every star in the sky, it sounded beautiful. Not exactly the kind of life I could ever live, but beautiful nonetheless, and the way she spoke softly and wistfully was beautiful as well. Watching her lips move was positively entrancing.

One night in my self-imposed quest to make her smile more, I told her a story about my first mission as a Crow. It impressed me a little that she didn’t seem bothered for my mark’s fate; perhaps these Dalish hunters were closer to assassins than I had realized. She chuckled softly at my conclusion, then showed that hard-won smile again and shared a story of her own about her first hunt.

“Normally we never kill more than we can eat, but the winter I came of age, there were far too many wolves about. They killed the showshoe hares and tried to ambush us in the night if we wandered too far from the fires. Keeper Marethari didn’t want to risk me since I was an untested initiate, but Hahren Paivel said I should have my chance. They partnered me with a more experienced hunter, thinking he would protect me if things went ill.

“But then when the wolves came, Junar shot _one_ and then another knocked his legs out from under him. He dropped his bow and that was it—he was busy trying to keep the beast off him with naught but a dar’misu! Now, to pass the proving, an initiate hunter has to bring a pelt back to camp. I brought _seven_ and Junar brought one. I’ve never seen him look more embarrassed! Ashalle nearly died laughing and Tamlen said...”

The laughter suddenly died out of her voice and her smile fell. Alarmed by her sudden change of mood, I checked behind me for a sign we were under attack. Upon seeing no one but Leliana, I frowned and asked, “Is something wrong? Do you feel ill?”

“No. No, just… suddenly tired,” Lurai said quietly, but the walls she had just started to lower were suddenly up higher than ever.

“Of course,” I said pleasantly. “You can finish your story another time.”

“No, that’s really all there is to tell,” she said as she stood. “All that came after was a lot of laughing and people telling me my mother would have been proud.”

Lurai walked away to her tent and this time I watched her go with more empathy than intrigue. It seemed that even among the Dalish, elven children were not always lucky enough to grow up with their mothers.


	4. The More I Saw Her Strengths

“So what is it in Denerim that’s important enough to risk all our lives for?” I asked as we finally came within sight of the gates to the market.

“Information,” Lurai said plainly.

“Ah, the most dangerous commodity of all,” I said seriously, though Wynne and Alistair looked at me like I was joking.

“We can’t all march in together,” Lurai said slowly, crossing her arms and looking at the city walls cautiously. “I still think I should go alone—”

“Which would be fine if we could _know_ you’ll spot Loghain’s men a hundred yards off,” Alistair disagreed. “Denerim is loyal to him—he’ll have eyes everywhere! If they’re on you before you see them, a bow isn’t going to do you any good.”

Lurai scowled like they had had this argument before. “I’m certain I’ve told you that just because I don’t carry a sword as long as I am tall doesn’t mean I’m useless in close combat. Hunters train with blades as well and elves are almost invisible in human settlements. They’ll be looking for a human Warden with an elven one. _They won’t see me_.”

“She is right that you will be much too noticeable dressed like that, Alistair,” Wynne agreed. “And how would _you_ fight without your armor and shield?”

“I manage just fine,” I pointed out. “If you’re so worried, I will go as well.”

“So you can hand her over to Loghain and lead his men to us?” Alistair accused. “I don’t think so.”

“Then I shall go too,” Leliana suggested. “I still have my Chantry robes. It should be simple enough to blend in there.”

Lurai considered that, turning the beads of her necklace between her fingers as she thought. “I couldn’t exactly follow you. I doubt anyone is foolish enough to believe me a follower of your Maker. But as long as we stay close together and approach this Genitivi’s house separately…”

“Then it’s settled!” I announced, clapping my hands enthusiastically. “Leliana shall play the lay sister and you and I shall rub some dirt on our faces and become poor refugees.”

Lurai stared at me as if she had already forgotten my offer to accompany her. Leliana just laughed and joked, “At this point, I don’t know that any of us would need much extra dirt for _that_ to be believable!”

Alistair, on the other hand, looked indignant. “You’re not seriously going to do this, are you?” he objected.

For once he and Morrigan seemed to agree, because she added, “It does seem rather foolish to trust the very same elf to protect you that quite recently tried to cut your throat.”

“That was all business, I assure you,” I insisted. “And I am quite glad I did not succeed in damaging your lovely neck.”

“He’s given us no reason to doubt him so far,” Leliana pointed out.

“You mean aside from the whole neck-slicey thing,” Alistair muttered.

Lurai finally seemed tired of the bickering, because her tone said she would have no more argument as she declared, “Unless someone else has a suggestion less likely to get everyone killed, we’re going. We’ll be back by nightfall and if we’re not, don’t try any foolish rescue missions. There’s a girl in my clan that escaped from the arl of Denerim’s son… I’ll cut my own throat before I’ll be at that bastard’s mercy.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, but didn’t question it until she had thrown Wynne’s dusty traveling cloak over her shoulders to hide her bow and we set off toward the city gates. As we waited to let Leliana get a little farther ahead of us, I looked to Lurai out of the corner of my eyes and said slowly, “So… that was a rather grim declaration you made earlier.”

“One that I meant,” she said without hesitating. “There are many things worse than death. A shemlen that believes elves aren’t people will think of every one of them.”

I wondered just what she thought was worse than death and if she would have been one of those bought by the Crows that killed herself rather than go through initiation.

“You speak like you hate humans,” I observed, keeping my tone as light as possible. “I thought the Dalish avoided them.”

“They do not all avoid us,” Lurai said darkly. “And most of the time when they don’t, people die.”

I laughed. “Don’t tell me, you’ve shot your share of trespassers?”

Lurai looked at me and those lovely blue eyes were as hard as sapphires, with exactly as much sympathy as one would expect from a stone. “I never claimed my hands were clean. But the blood on them was well-earned; there is nothing a good hunter will not do for her clan.”

And just like that, I suddenly wondered instead if she might actually make a _better_ Crow than I had.

“And now we see if this works,” Lurai said slowly, narrowing her eyes as Leliana approached the guards by the gate. One bowed to her and they let her pass without question. Lurai nodded slowly. “Good. We should be fine.”

I realized something and looked at her in surprise. “You had Leliana go first intentionally. You wanted to see if they would recognize her.”

Lurai shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “It was one way of gauging the danger before we got close. Better to sacrifice one person that isn’t a Warden than all of us at once. Do you object?”

I laughed. “It’s surprise after surprise with you. That was brilliant. Cold, but brilliant.”

Her eyes shifted until she seemed to be looking very far away. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that.”

“You know you can’t walk inside like that, right?” I asked, and she frowned her confusion at me. “The way you walk—the way you hold your chin high. It’s very attractive, of course, but very Dalish. City elves keep their eyes low. And try not to look directly at any humans. You always look a little like you want to slit their throats, and _that_ , my dear, is something they will notice.”

Lurai’s nose wrinkled and I managed not to laugh as she tried to adjust her posture. She didn’t pull off meek very well but apparently the hood of Wynne’s cloak hid that well enough to fool the guards, because they let us pass through into the city.

Leliana’s bright red hair was visible in the distance, weaving through the milling crowd as only a bard could. We followed in the mass of people until she took a side street away from the market, then waited long enough to let her get out of sight. We approached the corner just in time to see her entering a house to one side of the alley.

“We should make sure no one saw her enter first,” Lurai said quietly enough that no one else in the noisy market could overhear. Her eyes turned to sweep her surroundings and for the first time she looked genuinely overwhelmed, like there was danger all around her and she had no idea which way to turn and face it.

“Use that expression there,” I advised, and she gave me a strange, questioning look. I couldn’t help laughing softly before explaining, “You are _not_ very good at pretending to be small and frightened. Looking lost in the crowd should work well enough.”

Lurai tried to glare at me, but her lips drew together in what looked suspiciously like a pout. I had to feign an itchy nose to hide my smile.

“And when you’re looking for soldiers in Ferelden, don’t let the bright colors distract you,” I went on once I had composed myself, gesturing at a couple of finely-dressed women in red and purple gowns. “This country’s knights likes to wear the same colors as its warhounds: all browns and greys.”

This time, Lurai’s brow furrowed in concentration and her eyes swept the square again. They focused on a man in scale mail near one of the shops, a knight that seemed to have his hands full with a drunken peasant. I nodded approvingly.

“Good. It’s easier to pick out threats in a crowd if you know what your enemy’s armor looks like.”

Lurai let out a humorless chuckle, not taking her eyes off the knight. “I’m Dalish, Zevran. Even without knowing I’m a Warden, not a single one of these people would object if the next passerby slit my throat in the middle of the market. Just as long as I didn’t get any of my blood on their merchandise.” She shook her head and pulled Wynne’s cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “They’re all enemies. I just have to know which is the biggest threat.”

This made me curious, since she had never voiced her distrust of humans before. I decided to press my luck, asking, “Is that why you’re so suspicious of Alistair and the others? Do you not count them as friends?”

Lurai paused, her hands still grasping the fabric of the cloak close to her chest, and then admitted quietly, “I don’t know how I think of them. I… I have trouble trusting a shemlen’s intent.”

Before I could respond, she brushed a lock of vivid hair back under her hood and turned away, heading for the door through which Leliana had disappeared. At her knock a man’s voice answered to come in and as she pulled on the handle, I held my breath.

“Friends of yours?” a male voice asked. As I followed Lurai inside, I saw a dark-haired man standing with Leliana. Without waiting for an answer, he sighed and shook his head. “As I just told the sister, I do not know where Brother Genitivi is now.”

Lurai frowned and crossed her arms. “He is missing?”

The man nodded, and Leliana looked disheartened. “Weylon is Genitivi’s apprentice,” she explained. “It seems the brother has been missing for some time.”

“Of course he has,” Lurai muttered with a sigh. “Why should this be easy?”

Waylon began to explain how long it had been since he had received word from Genitivi, and Lurai started looking around the house, seeming to half listen as she observed. After wrinkling her nose at the half-eaten meal on the table (the goat stew admittedly smelled very foul), she ran a finger down the spines of a few books on a shelf (could she read the king’s tongue, I wondered?) and wandered toward a table piled with scrolls. I was browsing the shelf she had just left, hoping for an interesting title and wondering just how long that stew had been sitting out to smell so putrid, when Lurai’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“I know what that is,” she muttered, and I looked up to see her on the far side of the room, turning on her heel to fix Weylon with a piercing look.

“You say you’ve had other visitors come to ask for this Genitivi’s whereabouts?” Lurai asked calmly.

“Yes, but I’ve been able to tell them no more than I’ve told you,” Weylon assured her.

Lurai’s eyes narrowed and her tone was strangely polite as she asked, “So which of these visitors is it that I smell rotting in the back room here?”

The silence that answered was deafening. My eyes widened and shot to Leliana, and I saw a similar expression of shocked understanding on her face as well. It was almost embarrassing, actually. As many targets as I had taken down, and I hadn’t been the one to recognize the scent of death.

Weylon finally let out a short bark of laughter, but I could see him sweating. “You are not from Denerim, are you? Ram stew is admittedly pungent, but I assure you it’s a delicacy…”

He met each of our eyes in turn and saw that none of us were buying his excuse, then swore and lunged at Leliana. Before either of us could have our blades drawn, an arrow lodged in his chest and he staggered backwards. I looked at Lurai and even I was almost chilled by the unfeeling look on her face as she loosed another that struck directly between his eyes.

Leliana responded first, clearing her throat and offering a thank you. I returned my half-drawn daggers to their sheaths and tried to wipe the amazement off my face. “Are you quite sure you were never a Crow?” I joked, approaching to inspect Weylon’s body. The second shot hadn’t even been necessary; the first had entered cleanly between his ribs.

“Quite,” Lurai said bluntly, ignoring the dead man in the main room and moving to search for one in the back of the house like this was a perfectly normal occurrence. Perhaps killing humans and leaving them where they lay _was_ normal for her. Perhaps the Crows should have recruited more Dalish assassins.

When we finally found the body in the back room, Leliana covered her mouth and nose but Lurai just crouched down to examine it with me, as unfazed as to be expected from someone that recognized the smell of rotting flesh so far away.

“It seems we have found the real Weylon,” I decided, and Lurai’s brow creased.

“A double?” she questioned. “Why would anyone go to such lengths to keep us from following Genitivi? Could this be more of Loghain’s plot to keep the arl on his deathbed?”

“Loghain seems more the type to throw sellswords at the problem than go to this length,” I said skeptically.

“One thing is certain,” Leliana broke in, still holding her nose. “Whatever is going on here, we will only find out in the Frostback mountains.”

Lurai frowned her confusion up at the pretty bard, and Leliana produced a note for us to read. “Weylon—or whoever he was—had this. It seems to point to a village called Haven not so far from the entrance to Orzammar.”

With a sigh, Lurai stood and pocketed the note. “I sincerely hope this isn’t another false lead. I’m getting very tired of tracking this man across Thedas.”

“What other choice do we have?” Leliana pointed out. “Besides, it will be worth it if the rumors are true. Can you imagine? The ashes of Andraste!”

Lurai made a noncommittal sound and nodded toward the door. “You should get out of here. We’ll… try to clean some of this up I suppose, then follow you.”


	5. And Her Weaknesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lag between chapters there. My work schedule has been changing constantly and made it difficult to make the regular Friday posts, but I will do my best to keep them on track!

After Leliana departed, I raised an eyebrow at Lurai. “You mean to clean up these dead men? How, exactly?”

“By leaving a friendly note for the city guard,” Lurai said matter-of-factly, and I followed her into the main room where sat an ink pot and quill by the pile of scrolls. I half expected her to ask if I “wrote shemlen,” but without a pause she began writing in an elegant, swirling script I had never seen the likes of. Toward the end of her note, she paused and frowned up at me.

“What is the word they use for _hahren_? A… older…?”

I managed not to laugh, but it was a close call. “I believe you mean _elder_ , but that is rarely used as a professional term. Genitivi would be called ‘brother’ or ‘master’ by most.”

Lurai stiffened at the use of the term master and I saw her hastily add ‘brother’ to her note. Without consulting me further, she finished it with a flourish and headed for the door.

“What do you plan on doing with that?” I asked curiously.

“Delivering it,” Lurai said simply, and before I could question her any further we were exiting Genitivi’s house into the alley. Unfortunately, that’s where things started to go wrong.

“‘Lo, pretty,” slurred a rather drunk man outside the entrance of the nearby tavern. Lurai shot him a look that anyone less inebriated would have realized meant she was dangerous and not to be trifled with. Of course, he didn’t seem to notice and swaggered closer with a drunken smile. “How’d you like a real bed an’ a real man t’ warm it t’night?”

Lurai stiffened and I sensed just how terribly this would end if I didn’t intervene. “I do not believe the lady is interested,” I said as politely as I could manage, flashing him a smile and trying to steer Lurai away before things could escalate. In return, he grabbed my arm and scowled.

“Didn’ ask ye, did I?” he snapped. “Can’ ye hear outta them knife ears?”

To my surprise, this seemed to anger Lurai just as much as if she had been the one on the receiving end of the slur. She snatched her arm from my grasp and her hand hovered just over the hilt of one of her elven daggers. “Let’s see how good _your_ ears are: you have one chance to let go of him and walk away,” she threatened.

“Wha’ was that?” the drunk man growled, releasing me to turn on her. “I think y’ed better apol’gize, elf bitch.”

I grabbed her arm again before she could draw the blade and tried to reposition us toward the end of the alley. The drunkard noticed and started shouting; I turned to run and two burlier men appeared from the tavern, drawn by the first one’s yells. I swore in Antivan, not that anyone noticed.

“Oy, stop those knife-ears!” the drunkard demanded. “They picked m’ pocket!”

Lurai muttered something in elvish that I suspected was also a curse as the newcomers responded to the call and blocked the alley. One of them asked what happened, calling the drunk man Bann Loren, and I wondered silently if this could possibly get any worse.

Apparently it could, because after stammering to think of something we might have stolen, the drunken nobleman pointed at Lurai’s throat and declared the necklace she wore was a present for his daughter.

Lurai couldn’t have looked more stunned if he had actually slapped her. “You foul, lying shemlen! You dare pretend the clumsy hands of _your kind_ could belong to a craftsmaster?!”

“How dare you insult the bann!” growled one of the thugs blocking our exit. “Hand over that necklace or I’ll gut you!”

“Perhaps you should just give them the necklace,” I suggested in a low voice. Lurai shot me a look like I had suggested she cut her ears off and present the bann with those.

“I will die first,” she hissed. “Run.”

“Run where?!” I demanded, but by the time the words were out, she had thrown herself forward—not toward the two blocking the entrance of the alley, but toward the bann himself. In his drunken stupor, he didn’t even have time to respond. He went down hard, and she rolled past him into a sprint.

“Run!” she shouted again, this time over her shoulder as she bolted down the alley. I followed, hoping the bann’s idiot guards stopped to pick him up before giving chase or we were done for.

“You realize this is a dead end, yes?” I called. Lurai stopped where she was, looked left and right, and tried to force open a door off the alley. The handle wouldn’t turn and she swore in elvish again before turning to me. “You can open these things, can’t you?”

The sound of approaching boots behind us made me work quickly. When the door swung open we both rushed inside, then shut and locked it behind us. I held my breath until the footfalls stopped at the end of the alley and the confused cursing began. Then I turned to look at Lurai incredulously.

“Not that I don’t appreciate excessive finery as much as the next man, but would you mind explaining why exactly your jewelry was worth risking our lives?” I whispered so we wouldn’t be overheard when our pursuers doubled back.

Lurai’s surprise betrayed a tiny spark of hurt that almost made me apologize without waiting for a response. Before I could, she set her jaw and raised her chin to look me in the eye.

“My father hand-carved this necklace as a betrothal gift for my mother. There are three hundred fourteen beads on the string, one for each day he loved her before he asked her clan’s Keeper for her hand. The Keeper rejected him, but my father gave her the necklace anyway. They continued to meet in secret by moonlight until one night, they were waylaid by bandits. He died holding off a party of shemlen and flat-ears so that my mother could escape to his clan and give birth to me as a Dalish hunter instead of an elven slave. I apologize if the only keepsake I have of the parents I never met is not worthy of your life, but it is worth mine.”

First, I could only stare. Then I opened my mouth and closed it again, uncertain how to respond. At last I managed to say awkwardly, “I… I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Lurai looked away, her hand moving to trace the design on one of the beads as she said, “It’s fine.”

It was a lie, but I didn’t press it. Looking closer at the necklace, I realized how incredibly detailed it was. Each of the tiny beads was shaped like an animal. I saw deer and hawks, wolves and rabbits, each carved out in painstaking detail. I understood why she had claimed no human craftsman could have made it; it seemed almost alive with the magic of the Dalish.

“It… is a beautiful necklace,” I admitted in an attempt for a better apology.

Still Lurai didn’t look at me, but she nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she said, this time seeming to mean it.

“You know, my mother was Dalish too,” I said suddenly. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but it got her attention and she finally stopped averting her gaze. So I told her the story, from my mother leaving her clan for an elven woodcutter down to her death as I was born. Lurai listened without commentary until I told her about the only keepsake I had had of my mother’s and how the Crows had taken it after I was sold to them.

“I am sorry,” she said softly, and she seemed to genuinely mean it. “Heritage and freedom are everything to the People.” She hesitated for just a moment before continuing, “It sounds like your mother tried very hard to give you both of those things, you know. I hope you do not hate her for it.”

I chuckled softly. I had not taken her for such a romantic. “How is that? By dying so I could live?”

Lurai frowned. “More so by the life to which she submitted herself for you. If she was Dalish, the city wasn’t her home anyway. She could have left and survived alone until she found her clan. Believe me, every Dalish woman  _I_ know would have chosen to rather than sell her body to shemlen. Unless there was something too important to lose by wandering the wilds.”

For a moment, I was stunned. I had in general tried not to imagine who my father might be, certain the likelihood he was not one of her patrons was minimal. Lurai didn’t seem to think it a question at all. But no, how was it her place to question it anyway?

“Or perhaps she simply wanted to die with a roof over her head,” I said defensively, turning back toward the door. “Come, they are surely gone by now. Let us be too.”

After I heard how snappish my voice had come out I expected her to be angry again, but Lurai just nodded and followed me in silence. What did she think she knew of the Dalish in Antiva, anyway? I was too busy thinking how presumptuous her comment had been to notice her pass off the note she had written to a guardsman until a voice from a few yards back shouted, “What is this? Who wrote this?!”

I glanced back and recognized the note he held. Lurai never took her eyes off the gates.


	6. Without Realizing She Saw Mine Too

“How exactly does a village stay hidden away well enough that apparently no one else in Ferelden has ever heard of it?” Alistair complained as we entered the foothills of the Snowback mountains.

“I am certain it will remain secret no longer now that word has reached _you_ ,” Morrigan said in that mocking tone she so loved to use on him.

“My people manage well enough,” Lurai said slowly. “Though we do tend not to let those that stumble across us walk away.”

“A cheery thought,” I put in grimly, crossing my arms and wishing for nothing so much as a thick coat. Antiva’s tradewinds were warm and gentle no matter the time of year, but Ferelden was entering winter and the mountain air was biting. It was like nothing I had ever experienced, and unfortunately nothing I had prepared for; I had never expected to remain in Ferelden so long.

The others all seemed perfectly prepared for the cold. When we stopped to make camp, I looked with some envy on Alistair’s thick bear fur that I had only recently poked fun at him for carrying. Ah well, perhaps I would wake up in a snowdrift with three fewer toes, but at least not looking like some ridiculous Chasind templar.

Fen’Harel curled up close to the fire and I sat with him, my toes rather closer to the flames than I would normally have liked, but that was somewhat of a calculated risk. Wynne offered me a cup of hot tea that I declined politely. After she ran out of the leaves she had brought from the Circle, she had taken to brewing a pot of whatever herbs Lurai deemed safe to consume. Leliana might be polite enough to choke down some of the stuff at each attempt, but after the first few disastrous concoctions, even potential frostbite wasn’t enough to make me risk that again.

Luckily, Morrigan and Lurai saw fit to make stew, much to the delight of both my empty stomach and my freezing fingers. I still sometimes wondered if the witch would eventually decide to poison us all when she gave me or Alistair one of those scathing looks, but she hadn’t done it yet and hot food was too tempting to turn down.

Though I missed the richness of the food prepared in Antiva City, I had to admit that between the two women, they could cook up a delicious meal. It always tasted wilder and herbier than anything I was used to, but compared to the bland gray dreck the rest of Ferelden somehow enjoyed, it was unmatched.

“Are we nearly there, do you think?” Alistair asked at length, once he had drained his bowl.

Lurai raised her free hand, pointing over the fire and toward the treeline. “Can you see the lights? That’s either a village or the largest bandit camp I’ve personally ever seen, and I’ve raided my fair share of bandit camps. I’d say it will be about an hour’s walk in the morning.”

Leliana’s eyebrows raised as she looked in that direction. “You’re right. I hadn’t even noticed! The cold must be getting to me.”

“It does make it hard to focus,” Lurai agreed, pulling her cloak about her shoulders more securely. It was long and thick and looked to be lined with gray foxfur. It was probably also very warm and I was quite jealous.

Everyone dispersed to sleep soon after, all except Morrigan, who had agreed to keep watch. She didn’t seem to need quite as much sleep as the rest of us. Or maybe she did and it was the not sleeping so much that made her so cranky.

If you’ve never tried, let me assure you it is exceedingly difficult to fall asleep with no more than a couple of thin blankets in the biting cold. When finally I managed it, I slept quite fitfully, and kept waking myself up when one of my hands would brush, ice-cold, against my own skin under the blanket. When I finally began to warm, I didn’t question it. Surely it must have been hours I had been tossing and shivering, so perhaps I was finally adjusting. Or freezing to death. Either way, it was quite peaceful.

Nevertheless when the sun began to rise, I found I still hadn’t gotten quite as much sleep as I would have liked. In protest, I dragged the blankets up over my head and was greeted not just by the warmth, but also the scent of a spicy kind of herb and a floral aroma I couldn’t quite name. How strange, I thought. Had my bedroll been left near the fire when Lurai and Morrigan were cooking?

It wasn’t until I heard someone digging around in the embers that I finally, sleepily sat up—and Lurai’s warm, fur-lined cloak fell into my lap with my blankets. I looked at it in surprise, then at her where she crouched by the fire. She presented a most unusual picture. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid instead of the bun she usually tucked it neatly into, she wore a long-sleeved tunic cinched with a belt at her waist, and she only glanced up at me long enough to say a good morning before continuing to stoke the fire.

“Er—good morning,” I responded, and Lurai seemed to note my confusion at last, looking up with a frown tightening around her lips.

“Is something wrong? Did you not sleep well?”

“Well, not until I got warm, no,” I admitted, and she smiled faintly.

“Oh, good; I thought it helped,” Lurai said, nodding toward the cloak. “We’ll have to see if we can find you a proper blanket in the village, but you can borrow it until you get one. I don’t think you would manage your daggers so well if you lost your fingers to the cold.”

She quirked an eyebrow at her own joke, but I honestly did not know what to say. This was an act of generosity I had not expected, and I had no frame of reference for kindnesses extended without favors expected in return. Finally I settled on, “I… thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Lurai said simply, shrugging it off as though she truly believed that. “I don’t like the cold either, but I _am_ used to it. Some winters, wool for blankets was so scarce that the best we could do was patch old ones together and pray to Sylaise for warmth. I should have realized earlier you weren’t dressed for such weather.”

“You should keep it,” I tried to insist, lamenting the loss of its warmth as soon as I pulled it off my legs, but being very careful not to let that show as I held it out toward her.

Lurai smiled again, this time a soft one that crinkled the vallaslin around her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply this was one of the hard years. Ashalle wouldn’t see me leave without blankets, and my clothes are much more suited to snow than yours. I assure you I won’t freeze.”

I hesitated, but sensed I would not win this argument. I would like to say I pulled the cloak back over me grudgingly, but I’m afraid I was entirely too grateful for a shield from the wind’s lashes for that. Lurai’s smile broadened just a little and then she turned back to the fire, humming softly as she tended it.

Finally, after checking around to make sure everyone was still asleep—or everyone except Sten anyway, but he was keeping watch safely out of earshot—I went to stand beside her and cleared my throat rather awkwardly. Though we had been traveling for just over a week, I hadn’t addressed what had transpired in Denerim and she hadn’t mentioned it again. I had known I owed her an explanation, but suddenly I felt exceedingly guilty for taking so long to offer it.

“I, ah—should apologize for how I acted back in Denerim,” I began, and to my surprise, this won me a frown when Lurai looked back at me.

“Zevran, I didn’t give you my cloak to make you feel guilty. I did it because you were cold. You don’t owe me an apology for it.”

“An explanation, then,” I countered, and though her lips set in a displeased sort of line, she didn’t interrupt again. “I’ve always thought… Well, I’ve tried _not_ to think about my father, to be perfectly honest. I’m not fond of the possibilities. And somehow, though of course I knew you were trying to help, it felt as if you were saying you knew my mother better than I. I should not have snapped; I am sorry.”

Lurai nodded slowly, twirling the end of her braid in her fingers as she did. Finally she inclined her head and said, “Explanation accepted, but you needn’t have given it. I understand all too well that it’s much easier to be angry than to be afraid.”

Leliana began to stir and I turned back to my bedroll quickly, unwilling to admit it was also easier to pretend to be busy than to focus on her words settling like stones into my chest.


End file.
